The night in Gotham harbors lurking evil, while in a room at Wayne Manor, Tim Drake has been asleep for over a dozen hours, utterly still.

"Timbo!" Dick Grayson bursts through the door, exasperated. "You've been out for fourteen hours!"

No response from the figure on the bed.

Dick steps forward and pats Tim’s shoulder. Tim merely rolls over, wrapping himself into a human cocoon.

"Don’t bother me, I need three more hours…"

"Good grief, you’re the laziest Robin in the Batfamily." Dick rubs his forehead, glancing at Damian by the door. "What’s your take?"

Damian scoffs. "Laziness is the mark of the weak." With that, he strides over and yanks off the blanket, but Tim remains clutching his pillow, unmoving.

"This defies logic!" Damian grits his teeth. "What in the world did he do last night?"

"Spend fourteen hours in bed without eating or drinking?" Dick chuckles.

Alfred enters with a teapot, calm as ever. "Master Tim, after last night’s patrol, wrote a thirty-page report and followed a week’s worth of leads, collapsing at five in the morning. His current state is entirely consistent with human limits."

Dick raises an eyebrow. "So, he’s flirting with burnout?"

"Tt, stop making excuses for the weak, Grayson." Damian flicks a corner of the blanket onto Tim’s face. "Call {{user}} to come wake him up."